


Into the West

by live_laugh_read



Series: Billabong Missing Moments [25]
Category: Billabong Series - Mary Grant Bruce
Genre: Death, Death from Old Age, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 15:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_laugh_read/pseuds/live_laugh_read
Summary: In 1983, at the age of eighty-four, Norah Meadows comes at last to the end of the line.





	

The night was drawing in, both literally and metaphorically. Outside the window of Norah’s bedroom, the sun was going down, casting a golden glow over the flats. 

 

Somehow, she had the feeling it would be the last sunset she ever saw.

 

With a sigh, she turned her face from the window to look at her granddaughter. Seated in a chair beside the bed reading a book was Grace Meadows, Davie’s daughter. Black-haired and brown-eyed, she looked very much like her aunt Sarah, aside from the difference in eye colour.

 

Ever since the illness had come upon her, Norah’s family had taken it in turns to sit with her, reading to her or talking with her. Grace, who had inherited Norah’s mother’s penchant for music, liked to sing to her. Norah liked to hear it. It was years since she herself had been able to sing the way her granddaughter could.

 

Now, Grace was reciting quietly under her breath, a finger tracing along the page. “‘But hark! The cry is Astur, and lo, the ranks divide; the great Lord of Luna comes with his stately stride…’” 

 

“How Horatius Kept the Bridge,” Norah said with a little smile, and Grace looked up in surprise. “I studied it at school, as did your grandfather. ‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may. I, with two others to help me, will hold the foe in play; in yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three.’”

 

“I suppose it isn’t terribly modern,” Grace admitted. “It just never crossed my mind that you might have studied it too. Have you ever thought it was true?” 

 

For a moment Norah considered the question. “It refers in its ending to the statue of Horatius, in the Comitium, which is a real place, so I suppose it must be true. However, I have never been to Rome, and so cannot confirm that assumption.” 

 

Grace’s eyes twinkled, and Norah was reminded of her late husband, Wally Meadows. “I will have to go to Rome and confirm it for you, Grandmother. The Captain of the Gate may well be immortalised in gold there.” 

 

“Just remember, Grace: when in Rome…” 

 

They laughed together, and then Norah fought to regain her breath, Grace immediately leaving her chair to help her grandmother sit up against the pillows. Time was running short. “Is there anything I can do for you, Grandmother?” 

 

“A glass of water would be lovely,” Norah told the girl with a warm smile. As Grace left the room, she lay back against the fluffed-up pillows. There was not long now to go until she would be with Wally again. 

 

Grace returned with the water, and Norah drank gratefully. Even though dinner had been barely an hour before, her throat was dry. “Can I sing to you?” asked her granddaughter haltingly. She was in the Chamber Choir at school, and knew that Norah enjoyed music. It was one of the things which brought them closer together.

 

“Yes, please.” Norah’s fingers, once long and slim but now wrinkled with age, searched for the girl’s. “I have a particular yearning to hear  _ My Country _ once more.” 

 

Smiling, Grace sat on the edge of Norah’s bed, her grandmother’s hand clasped in both of her own. “ _ I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains _ ,” she sang quietly, and Norah closed her eyes, letting the melody wash over her. “ _ Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea. _ ” 

 

In her mind’s eye, Norah saw again the endless paddocks of the Northern Country, with the silver band of the river spanning them. Beyond the river, the distant hills of the ranges rose against the northern sky, grey clouds dotted here and there.  _ “Her beauty and her terror, the wide brown land for me; Australia for me. Core of my heart, my country! land of the rainbow gold! For fire and flood and famine, she pays us back threefold… _ ” 

 

The constant pain in her chest was easing, and Norah dared to take a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, it did not end in wheezing and hacking. Still Grace’s song continued: “ _ But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again. The drumming of an army, the steady, soaking rain. _ ” 

 

Norah felt as though she was being lifted up, borne on the wing of the harmonies. The homestead was below her, the endless blue above her. And then she was above the clouds, and she was coming into a new land. All around her stood people she had known, smiling as she looked at each one of them. And they were singing.

 

“ _ An opal-hearted country, a wilful, lavish land. All you who have not loved her, you will not understand. Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die - I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly. _ ” 

 

She was standing on her own two feet for the first time in weeks, and when she looked down, she saw a strand of long, brown hair fall past her shoulder, lying on the light blue fabric of a summer frock. On her left hand, her silver wedding ring remained, sparkling in the light of the suddenly brightly shining sun, high above.

 

“This is what it looks like, out West,” came a soft voice from behind her, and she spun, bringing her hands to her mouth. Wally stood before her, in trousers and white silk shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his black hair messy as ever and his brown eyes twinkling. “What do you think?” 

 

“It’s beautiful,” she got out, before she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. It felt like heaven to feel him wrap his arms around her: steady, reliable and dependable to the end. “So this is really, truly it?” 

 

He chuckled against her temple. “I hope so, Norah, asthore, because it would be a cruel God who would take you away from me again so soon after I had you back.” Wally drew away from her, cupping her cheeks in his hands and watching her intently; then, he kissed her, greeting her and welcoming her home. 

 

When they broke apart, she felt a surge of love wash through her, for the man before her who had sworn to be with her right through to the end and beyond, and had kept his promise. “I’ve missed you.” 

 

“And I have missed you, Norah dear. But there are people who are waiting to see you.” He took her hand and led her away, towards a small crowd gathered near what appeared to be Billabong homestead. A woman stepped forward with the same brown hair and grey eyes as Norah, and she gasped.

 

“Mother!” She broke away from Wally and ran, flying barefoot across the grass, the distance between her and her mother lessening with each stride. And then they were hugging each other, laughing together. “Oh, Mother, it really is you!” 

 

Her mother held her tight. “Norah, my darling. How proud I am of you!” 

 

They held the embrace for several seconds more, before Norah released her mother to hug first her father, then Jim, all the while holding her mother’s hand in her own. “I’ve longed to see you for years,” she said finally, looking back at Mary Linton. “The only memory I have of you is vague, in the days before you died.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Mary said quietly. “But you grew up straight and clean and honest, and you married a good man whom I love as my own son.” 

 

“Norah.” Wally was at her side again, gently drawing her away and toward another couple, standing under the shade of a tall eucalypt. “These are my parents,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s meet-the-parents time all over again.” To the man and woman in front of them he said clearly, with no small amount of pride, “Mother, Father - my wife, Norah.” 

 

The woman, whose brown hair was so dark it almost appeared black, approached Norah, extending a warm hand. Norah took it, looking into the hazel eyes which were kind. “It’s lovely to meet you at last, Norah. You have done so much for our son, and we have enjoyed seeing him happy.” 

 

“It was my pleasure,” Norah murmured, turning to shake hands with her father-in-law. John Meadows was of a height with his youngest son, and the very image. Suddenly Norah wondered what it would be like if John, Wally and Davie were to be placed side-by-side: three generations of Meadows men, all alike. “It’s lovely to finally meet the parents Wally has spoken to me so highly of.” 

 

With these introductions over, her parents-in-law wandered towards the group by the homestead, and Wally turned to Norah. “I have something to show you,” he said, a tinge of excitement in his voice. “Would you like to see it now, or wait until later so that you can talk to people? We have all the time in the world.” 

 

She smiled at his eagerness. “I’d like to see it, Wally. In truth, I would like to spend more time with you. The last seven years have been cruel to me, without you.” 

 

They strolled hand-in-hand towards a familiar belt of trees, through which wound a beaten track, wide enough for two to walk abreast or for one horse to gallop. When they emerged on the other side of the belt, Norah stopped abruptly, standing stock-still in shock.

 

Before them rose the familiar brick structure of Little Billabong, the homestead long ago nicknamed by Norah the ‘house of dreams’ when they were newly married. The garden which she loved so much was blooming in front of it, and the verandah railings were gaily clad with ivy. Upstairs, a window was open, its white curtain fluttering in the soft breeze. 

 

“It’s been waiting for you.” Wally stood behind her, slipping his arms about her waist from behind. “I’ve been here for years, ever since I came West, but it didn’t seem right. Now the Mistress has come home.” 

 

“It’s beautiful,” was all she could manage to get out. “Oh, it’s a sight for sore eyes.” 

 

He laughed, moving to stand in front of her and take her hand again. “Shall we?” 

  
Norah gave him her hand gladly, and together they entered their house of dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> The song which Grace and others sing is "My Country (I Love a Sunburnt Country)", lyrics based off the poem of Dorothea Mackellar, published in 1908. It was set to music in 1982 by Jackie Trent and Tony Hatch.
> 
> Earlier, Grace and Norah recite in turn "How Horatius Kept the Bridge" by Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay, published in 1842 as part of the Lays.


End file.
